“Anger is like spending a piece of your soul,” he said.
I am fascinated with this idea. I have dabbled in the dark art of anger. I have seethed. I have had righteous anger. I have held grudges. I have had resentments. I have flipped people off, cussed people out, held it in, let it out. I dealt in anger like a peddler deals in trinkets. I had some for every occasion. I had so much I wasn’t even aware of some of it.
“So when I feel myself getting angry, I ask myself is it worth spending some of my soul?”
Brilliant. Seeing anger as harmful to ourselves, as costing part of our soul. I used it as a commodity for a long time. However, I felt like it was earning me respect, power, stature. I relished the opportunity to wield it like Conan or the Highlander. The anger hid my fear, my hurt, my pain. The anger protected me from being known. I saved it in my reservoir and would relive it , reuse it when I needed to protect myself. I had gotten to the point that all I had was anger in varying degrees. Even my humor was sarcasm, or passive aggressive anger. I even had anger directed inward, or depression. It had eaten my soul. My soul looked like Swiss cheese. Hard winds of life would whistle as they blew around me. A haunting hollow sound followed me everywhere.
“When you are angry at yourself, does it cost extra soul?” I pondered
“Resentments are like eating rat poison and waiting for the rat to die.” I mused
“”How do you earn the spent soul back?” I asked out loud.